


I'm So Sorry

by llama_at_221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Feels, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Sherlock cheats, Suicidal Thoughts, Teenlock, but accidentally, sorrynotsorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:01:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9656654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llama_at_221b/pseuds/llama_at_221b
Summary: Sherlock gets high, and cheats on John with Victor. It's ok, it'll be ok, it gets better. Give it a try.





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock and John had been dating for almost two months, and in that time Sherlock had gotten attached to the rugby player. Both 17, they were in the same classes, shared a dorm, and all this was perfect and amazing.

Sherlock, however, had a problem. A terribly large problem. One that had been bothering him for years, one that was spurred on by the bullying he’d had to endure in the time before John had come into his life.

Sherlock was suicidal.

He was put down so often, spat on and told to shut up. He was beaten up, made fun of, worn down, and utterly, horrendously misunderstood. Now, all of this was made infinitely better by John and his lighthearted attitude, his constant smile. But Sherlock was afraid of what he might do if he found out. Break up with him, call him a freak. If John did those things, it would destroy the already fragile genius.

Sherlock could never let that happen.

Ever.

So he kept doing drugs, secretly, to provide some relief from his daily torment. With Victor. Victor understood. The boy was supplying the cocaine, for God’s sake. How could he not understand?

John had met Victor a few times before, as he was Sherlock’s only resemblance of a friend. John hadn’t liked Victor, not at all. But Sherlock didn’t care, he just… did drugs with him. But one day, Sherlock got careless. He took too much, he couldn’t control anything that happened.

Victor might have taken a bit too much, too, but Sherlock didn’t protest when he dragged them back to his and John’s dorm.

Didn’t complain when he shoved his lips against Sherlock’s.

Didn’t complain when they tumbled into bed together, limbs tangling and lips interlocking.

Buttons coming undone and zippers being pulled down.

Keep in mind, through all of this, Sherlock was stoned out of his mind. Some might argue that doesn’t excuse Victor taking advantage, but he was pretty far gone himself, but still, hey, I’m not saying they should have done it.

                                                                                                  ***********************************************************************

After Victor was done with Sherlock, he rolled over and fell asleep as Sherlock was coming down from his cocaine high. He hadn’t even come with Victor. After the teen’s head swirled back to Earth from a small nap, Sherlock sat up from sleep immediately. He glanced beside him, withdrawing with a confused expression. But then, he remembered.

He remembered everything that had happened, his pale eyes going wide with the shock and horror of what he had done.

What had he done?

Nothing good. That was for sure.

Sherlock stumbled out of bed, disgusted with himself.

He had... he had cheated.

On John.

With Victor.

Suddenly, it was all too much and his legs crumpled from beneath him. Sherlock curled into a small ball at the end of the bed, all lanky limbs and pale skin. He started to cry, head buried between his knees, arms protecting the top of his head. What… what had he done?

Two words rang inside his head, over and over and over.

With Victor.

With Victor.

With… Victor.

His shoulders shook and he gasped in quiet, panicked breaths. His mind began to race, eyes shot open wide, no. No, no, no, no. This was not how it should have happened. This was not how it should have happened at all. No, _John_ should be lying in that bed. _John_ should be hugging him now. _John_ should have fallen asleep next to him, not Victor.

Sherlock didn’t love Victor.

He loved _John_.

He realized it was true. Even though they had never said it to one another, it was true. Sherlock didn’t want to lose John, he wanted Victor out.

He stood up, angrily whipping his head around to glare at the body asleep in the bed. He stomped over to it, and with a hard jab to the ribs, it woke up, rubbing its head and groaning. “Wh… Sherlock, what’s goin’ on?” Victor asked groggily. “Out. Get out. You’re leaving.” Sherlock replied sharply, his tone so icy you could freeze ice cream on it. “What do you mean, baby?” Victor asked, sitting up. “I mean, you’re leaving. Get out. And I am not,” Sherlock snapped, “your baby.” “Wh- of course you are, Sherls. Now that the stupid John bloke, what’s-his-face, is outta the way, we can be together.” Victor drawled, reaching up to rest his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. Upset and even more disgusted than before, Sherlock shook it off. “I don’t want to be together. John is the only person I love, not you, not anyone else. I was high. You were high. This isn’t something I want. This is an awful mistake,” Sherlock bit out, “and I _never_ want to see you again. Now leave.” Sherlock finished, thrusting Victor’s pants at him.

Taken aback, Victor grabbed them, but also he takes Sherlock’s hand in his own, holding it too tightly for Sherlock to escape.

“Sherls, wait, we can talk about this. I love you, and I know, deep down, you love me too.” He smiled.

Sherlock nearly choked on his anger. “Get. The hell. OUT.” he hissed through clenched teeth, ripping his hand out of Victor’s. Where was John?

Where _was_ John?

He was at Mike’s, for a celebratory night over. Their team had won the rugby match the day before, that was why Sherlock thought he had some time for drugs. He said he’d be back at… at 11:30. Sherlock shoved Victor aside with another order to put on his pants and get out. He lunged for the clock.

It was 11:25.

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open, eyes widening. He tossed down the clock, dropped on his knees and started searching under the bed for Victor's shirt. "I hate you so much, you over-glorified pig. I wish I'd never known you." he spat as he swept a hand under to check for the article of clothing.

"Aw, c'mon, you'll come around. John has nothing you want, he's just another empty-headed ruby player." Victor sighed, pulling on his pants. He was rather enjoying the sight of Sherlock's behind waving about in front of him while he searched for the shirt. "I've got my shirt right here, but thanks for the show," he continued, patting Sherlock's pants-clad arse.

Sherlock actually growled when Victor touched him, slapping his hand away. "Then put it on, you son of a-" He was interrupted by the sound of a knocking on the door. "Sherlock? It's me, I forgot my key. Could you let me in?"


	2. How Did This Happen?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Jawn. It's ok. Sherls didn't mean to. I know it still hurts...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really plan this fic, but if u people really want me to, i'll write a few more chapters. sorry for the late update, my wifi was down, and the chapter had to be rewritten a few times.

Sherlock stopped. His world stopped. Everything stopped.

Everything stopped and everything shattered, dashed on the remains of Sherlock’s mind palace. He froze, staring at the door.

Victor smiled, took out a cigarette, took Sherlock’s lighter off the side table, and lit up in the soon-to-be rubble of John and Sherlock’s relationship.

John knocked again. “Let me in! C’mon, I- oh, nevermind. Found my key.” he called through the wood of the dorm door. He finally pulled the key he’d missed before out of his pocket, and slipped it into the lock, hefting his overnight bag higher on his back. He opened the door and walked in. “Missed you, ‘Locky, what’ve you been up t-”

John had stopped because he’d walked into the kitchen and glanced into the bedroom, where he saw them.

Sherlock and… Victor.

Sherlock wearing nothing but his pants, a Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy shirt, and an indescribable expression.

Victor wearing nothing but his undone jeans and a smug expression. “Hello, John. How’ve you been? Back from Mike’s, I see?”

John stood there, not saying anything, not doing anything, not moving, jaw dropped.

“John…” Sherlock whispered. “John, it’s not like that. You… you know I love you, r-right?”

John still didn’t do anything.

The key in his hand clattered to the floor, interrupting the tense silence.

He stared at Victor, stared at the cigarette, stared at his state of undress, at the fact that he was in Sherlock’s bed.

He blinked.

Nothing changed.

He blinked again.

Nothing changed. 

John rubbed his eyes.

Still, nothing changed.

“Sherlock…?” he said hoarsely, “What… what is Victor Trevor doing, half naked, on your… on your bed?”

Victor grinned again.

Sherlock stepped forward, reaching out a hand. "John, John, please, listen to me..."

John took a shaky step back, then another, then another. A single tear traced a salty track down his tanned cheek. He rushed back through the door, stumbling away from the building and back to Mike's house.

How could Sherlock have done this? How could he just... just... cheat like John was nothing? Like they had been nothing?

Had they been nothing to Sherlock?

They hadn't been nothing to John...

He made it to Mike's house, running a hand through his hair and stepping up to the door. Mike answered.

"Hey, Mike... could you help me? Sherlock... he's... he... he cheated..." 

"Oh, god, that's awful! Come in. You can stay as long as you want to, mate."

John smiled gratefully, as best as he was able to at the moment. "Thanks, Mike. You're a life saver." He stepped inside, overnight bag still on his back. He walked down the hall and into the guest room, shoulders sagged under the weight of his troubles.

Mike watched him go, his newly depressed best mate. He was going to fix this, he decided, and he was going to get those two back together again. They were meant for each other, after all, and Mike was going to make sure they ended up together.

***********************************************************************************

Sherlock watched John escape, tears running down his face. He whipped to Victor, expression pure hatred. "Get. Out." he snapped, tone full of livid fury. Victor looked surprised, cigarette hanging from his bottom lip, lying there on the bed. He nodded once. You didn't mess with an angry Sherlock.

After Victor was gone, after everything that reminded Sherlock of him was disposed of, the genius sunk down onto the bed. He stared at the white ceiling and wished. He wished none of this had ever happened, he wished John was there to comfort him and kiss him, he wished that he'd never met Victor in the first place. He wished John still loved him, because he still loved the rugby player.

A few blocks away, at Mike's house, a lonely soul lay in the guest bed, and wished. He wished Sherlock had never cheated, he wished Victor didn't exist, he wished he was over there with Sherlock. He wished the genius had loved him, because he sure as all hell still loved the genius. He was an idiot to ever think that Sherlock could harbour human emotions. He'd been warned by so many people that it wouldn't end well, that he should back out before he got in too deep. 

He now realized that every single person who had ever said that was right.

And right there John Watson broke, without his Sherlock, without anyone left to love him.

A few blocks away, Sherlock broke, without his John, without anyone left to understand him.


	3. Maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of feels. Like, an inordinate amount of feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! Writer's block/procrastination/homework is a knife to my throat.

John woke up the next morning, and started to roll over to look at Sherlock, because the genius always looked cute in the morning, but then he remembered. He sighed, and buried himself under the duvet.

Eventually, he got up. It was Saturday, and he didn't have any classes, so he was free to guilt himself over his and Sherlock's breakup all day. John was up before Mike was, so he decided to make breakfast. It was the least he could do for the other boy. He pulled eggs, bread, milk, cinnamon, and butter from various places in the kitchen and began making French toast.

Had he done something wrong to Sherlock? Did Sherlock think Victor was better than him?

He angrily flipped the toast.

Was it even his fault at all? Had Sherlock wanted to do it?

He stopped, halfway through getting out the maple syrup.

Had Victor forced it upon him? Had Sherlock been drunk? Did Sherlock get drunk? Was it physically possible for the genius to get drunk? 

Had Sherlock been… high?

So many questions buzzed through his mind, and he had to shut his eyes before they leaked out as tears.

Had Sherlock ever really loved him? Could Sherlock love?

The genius had been cold and unfeeling enough when he’d first met him. Had Sherlock been faking his emotions? They had looked pretty real to John, but he was no Sherlock. If Sherlock had been faking his emotions for John, wasn’t that love? To fake for someone so they would feel happy?

John was confusing himself. He got back to the - now finished - French toast, and tried to erase all thoughts of curly-haired geniuses out of his mind. 

Mike walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “Whatcha cookin’, Watson?” he called over the sizzling of the toast.

“Breakfast.” replied John, not in the sort of mood for chatting. “French toast with maple syrup.”

Mike raised his eyebrows. “Feelin’ alright, mate?”

“Fine, Mike. Just… fine.”

Mike shrugged. “Okay.”

John handed him a plate of the toast. “Ta, John.” 

They ate in silence.

                             ****************************************************************

Sherlock woke up with a sigh and a few tears before getting out of bed and making tea.

It was only once he’d finished that he remembered he only needed one cup.

After more tears and a smashed mug, Sherlock was sitting on the couch, legs curled up to his chest, sipping tea with very red eyes. He missed John. He missed the way he’d have a gravelly voice in the morning, how he made tea, how he’d ruffle Sherlock’s hair. How he’d look at him and smile and tell Sherlock he loved him. He missed how John’s eyes would twinkle after he said the same.

No.

No, no, no.

Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. 

Sherlock’s head fell between his knees.

He repeated this in his head over and over again. He didn’t really need John. He’d never needed anyone in his life before.

So then why did it feel as if his heart was being shattered?

Why did it hurt him, physically pain him, to imagine that expression that he’d seen on John’s face when he ran away?

Why did he want John back so badly?

It shouldn’t be this hard to break up with someone you love.

No.

Not love.

Sherlock was incapable of love.

John could never have really loved him. Sherlock was, quite famously, cold and uncaring.

John could never have…

Could he?

Sherlock’s head popped back up, and the genius stared into space, thinking.

Had Sherlock just ruined the one chance at… love… he had ever had?

By cheating on John.

With… with Victor.

He slumped back down, dropping the mug at his feet.

Come back, John...

***************************************************************************************************

John finished his breakfast, and wandered back to his bedroom. He collapsed onto the bed and stared at the ceiling again, tears forming at the edges of his eyes, clouding the blue. He squeezed them shut, bringing his hands up to his face, willing himself not to cry. 

He felt so broken and alone, without his genius to make him smile. John simply couldn't fathom why Sherlock had done this. Had he meant to? John hoped not.

But if he hadn't...

That meant something worse. That he'd been forced to by Victor, or that he'd been too stoned/drunk to realize what was happening. 

Maybe...

Maybe he had loved John!

Maybe he'd never stopped loving him!

Maybe this was an accident!

Maybe John could gather the pale-skinned genius in his arms once more...

Rub his thumbs over those cheekbones, and see Sherlock's smile again.

John leapt up, filled with timid hope. He dashed out of the room, in his pajama bottoms and an old Hobbit t-shirt, and grabbed his coat.

Maybe, just maybe...

Next second, he was dashing down the road in the crisp morning air. He didn't care if anyone saw him, he didn't care if anyone thought he was odd. He was going to see his Sherlock, and he was proud of it.

He ran straight to the dorm door, fumbling with his key all the way up to the door. He stopped just outside the wood, teetering, while he got the key to work.

Sherlock, inside, furrowed his brow. Who could be at the do-

Why was John at the door. Sherlock sprang up. Judging by his pace and amount of key jiggling, he was excited? Angry... no, he was excited. Why was he excited? He'd probably come to get his stuff, what was so special about that? Or maybe...

Could it be?

Was John back?

Why would he do that?

What was going on?

Outside, John managed to get the door unlocked, and he burst in, to the sight of a surprised and shocked Sherlock. He smiled softly and walked over to Sherlock, who now looked at John like he'd grown an extra head.

The short rugby player reached up and pulled the tall genius's face down to his. "Whatever this was," he whispered, "I know you didn't mean any of it."

"But John, I-"

John pressed his lips up against Sherlock's.

"Shut up, Sherlock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This miiiiiiiiiiiiiiight be the end??
> 
> If you guys want more, i'll write more.


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is fully informed of what exactly transpired between Victor and Sherlock. John is so sorry. Sherlock is even sorrier.

Sherlock would forever love John, he knew that much. So that’s why, when John came back, Sherlock gave him the full story, filled him in on all the blanks. His suicidal tendencies, his drug usage, what Victor meant to him. 

Which was nothing. 

After he was done, John looked at him with tears brimming in his eyes. “Sherlock… I didn’t know… I’m so sorry…” And he was. If he had known… he could have talked about it with him… done something….

Sherlock bit his lip, looked down. Looked back up. “I’m sorry… I should have told you sooner.” John bit out a sort of choked half-noise, and suddenly, Sherlock had an armful of Watson. He blinked, surprised, but soon settled into the warm rugby player body in front of him.

They stayed like that for a long while.

He was relieved, of course, so relieved that John was accepting of… this, but honestly, he had expected something more drastic of him. He inhaled deeply, sucking in the scent he loved so much and thought would never smell again. He hated to let his emotions run rampant, but with John, it was impossible not to. It would seem that John Watson was a mystery that Sherlock would never get to the bottom of.

"John?"

John understood depression, he knew what it meant, entailed, and he knew that Sherlock would never be truly well, but he was going to help his lover through this. He was already planning where to look for counselors and the like.

"Yeah, Sherlock?"

John was not fickle, certainly not. He prided himself in that. 

"Just... please don't go away?"

Sherlock's voice was so tiny and scared, a small piece of him that he almost never let show.

"Never. Not ever. I'll always stay with you. I love you, you know."

"I love you too, Jawn."

They stayed like that, in each other’s arms, until the last tear was shed. Sherlock pulled away slightly to kiss John and tell him things he’d never told anyone else before. John pulled away to tell him the same and pet his curls.

They truly were meant for one another.

They fell asleep together with Sherlock draped across John, pale body stretched out over the tanned one in final, peaceful unity.

While this would leave a scar of a memory on their relationship, there was nothing that could truly pull apart John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

**Author's Note:**

> ehehheheeheheh
> 
> good luck w/ those feels  
> I'll be postin another chapter in a few hours, probly


End file.
